


Concussions & Conclusions

by Argentina



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Washingdad, hamilton is an idiot, kind of jamilton?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 10:13:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17486225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argentina/pseuds/Argentina
Summary: hamilton is an idiot and hits his head on a rockinspired by Give Credit by scioscribe





	Concussions & Conclusions

“Get your hands off of me!” Hamilton smacks at the hands reaching up to examine his head injury. It didn’t seem severe, but Jefferson still needed to confirm that.

“Stop fighting. You’re not making this any easier.” Jefferson states, trying to keep his cool. How his arch enemy managed to trip and slam his head onto a rock, he didn’t know. Leave it up to Hamilton to do things like that during the most inconvenient time. 

“I don’t need your help!” He huffs, scooting away from the other man. His fingers are slicked with blood from the fresh cut. 

“Is that so?” Jefferson raises an eyebrow and stands up, even though he isn’t actually about to leave his co-worker on the side of the road with a possible concussion. “I suppose I’ll just leave, then.” He teases, taking a tentative step away from Hamilton. 

Hamilton narrows his eyes and watches the older man as he slowly gets farther and farther away from him.

Both of them being the hardheaded men they are, they allow this to continue for approximately ten seconds until Jefferson spins on his heel and glares at the younger man. 

Hamilton smirks. “Can’t look away from my beautiful face, can you?” 

“Shut it, you imbecile.” Jefferson has to prevent himself from stomping as he makes his way back. As frustrating as it is, he would never leave anybody who is in need, even if it happens to be his main rival. Although the shorter man had uttered his previous question in jest, his sleep-deprived face is still beautiful to Jefferson. 

Hamilton’s head is throbbing. The pain wasn’t this bad before, but he is finally starting to feel the full effects of his injury as the adrenaline and initial shock wears off. He still isn’t over the fact that he was stupid enough to slip on a puddle. Maybe, just maybe Jefferson is right in calling him and imbecile, but he will never let him have the satisfaction of knowing it. 

Jefferson crosses his arms and stands in front of where Hamilton is sitting. He tilts his head and resists the urge to run his fingers through Hamilton’s luscious hair. It is gorgeous even when it’s soaked in dirty water and blood.

“What do you want me to say?” Hamilton sighs, reaching up to scratch his head. He has taken care of worse wounds single-handedly, so he didn’t actually need help. If Jefferson wants to stay, then that’s his choice, although Hamilton wouldn’t mind his company.

Jefferson ponders this inquiry for a moment, running through the many possibilities in answering this. What did he want Hamilton to say? He could make him apologize for being an ass, but that’s setting things up for disaster, and Jefferson didn’t want Hamilton to block him out.

He finally settles with the classic response. “Nothing.” That’s what people say don’t have a proper answer for a question, or when something has happened and they do not feel like talking about it. “Also, stop picking at it. You wouldn’t like it if an infection festers, would you?” 

“Of course not.” He drops his hand in resignation and looks at his palms. 

“Gruesome.” Jefferson comments. Seeing that his coworker doesn’t have enough sense in him to stop the bleeding, he takes matters into his own hands. Unraveling his scarf and stooping down, he wraps the fabric around Hamilton’s hair and forehead, adorning his appearance with a peculiar looking headband.

Hamilton doesn’t protest, not even once, through this entire process, which is quite surprising to his rival. Usually, the enigmatic young man never knows when to shut his mouth, which is probably a major factor in why people despise him. Jefferson straightens up and takes a few steps back, admiring the face of Alexander Hamilton. 

“Perfect.” He purses his lips and makes an imaginary frame with his fingers to capture the sight of Hamilton. “Picture perfect.” 

“Oh please. As if.” Hamilton scoffs. “Are you looking closely enough? I’ve been told that I look ill all the time.” 

Jefferson scrutinizes the face of the man who always manages to look wonderful to him. There are dark smudges under his eyes, nearly the color of bruises. His face is taking on a white pallor, which is not uncommon, but is paler than usual right now from the blood loss. He frowns at the indications of Hamilton’s poor health and lack of self-preservation skills. 

“You need to eat more.” He notes, scanning his slender frame. 

Hamilton nods, rubbing his eyes. “I will. Just been busy lately.” 

Jefferson’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t comment any further on the topic. “Come on. I’m pretty sure Washingdad would appreciate it if I brought you to him.” 

Hamilton gapes at the nickname Jefferson assigned to Washington while getting hauled up by the arms. “He’s not my dad!” He stumbled on finding any better words, still reeling from the spontaneous word. 

“He sure does act like he is.” Jefferson rolls his eyes and holds Hamilton in place after pulling him to a standing position. “Are you good to walk?” 

Hamilton takes a step and nearly faceplants. “Nope.” He clings onto Jefferson’s ridiculously colored magenta suit that the man is always so fond of. 

Jefferson takes a deep breath and leans the younger man’s weight on himself, supporting him and ignoring the worry that consumes him when he feels Hamilton’s ribs poking out of his shirt. Okay, he is definitely not letting Hamilton out of his sight until he eats a decent meal first. 

“The walk shouldn’t take too long; we’re only a block away now.” He mumbles, making sure to speak low so Hamilton doesn’t hear the concern in his voice. It must’ve worked, because it didn’t provoke any reaction from the young writer. Or maybe he was simply just too out of it to focus properly.

Once they arrive, Jefferson swings the door open and nearly drops Hamilton on the floor while trying to slam the door shut again. “Come on, just a few paces more.” He practically drags the heap that is Hamilton across the carpeted floor and is infinitely thankful that Washington’s office is located on the first floor, the one that they are currently making their way across. 

A few people shoot weird looks at their direction, but none of them say anything or come any closer. Jefferson stares back at any lingering looks. 

He spares a fearful glance at Hamilton, who is fighting against the drowsiness overcoming him. “No, no, don’t fall asleep just yet.” Dammit, Jefferson knew he should’ve examined the injury as soon as he could. He swears under his breath and holds Hamilton tighter, for he was barely keeping himself up with his feet.

“Ow!” Hamilton groans, using both of his arms to cling on to Jefferson. “Stop holding on so tight.”

“Keep yourself up, and maybe I will.” Jefferson retorts. The both of them approach Washington’s office.

Jefferson roughly opens the door without knocking or doing anything to indicate his presence and shoves Hamilton inside. Hamilton slams onto the ground and lifts his head to glare at Jefferson. 

Washington’s head snaps up from his paper and he looks back and forth at the two men, prompting them for an explanation. 

“Speak.” Jefferson tells Hamilton. 

Hamilton sits up and takes a deep breath. “So, uh, I tripped. On a puddle.” 

Washington simply stares at the scarf wrapped around Hamilton’s head before snapping to his senses and walking over. “You tripped on a puddle.” He repeats.

Hamilton doesn’t say anything. Jefferson stands awkwardly at the door.

“May I see?” Washington kneels in front of the injured man. 

“Yeah.” He mumbles, fiddling with the scarf. Jefferson sure did tie it well. 

“I have come to the conclusion that you are an idiot, Alexander.” He says after seeing the cut.

“I concur.” Jefferson smirks. Hamilton glares. 

“Jefferson, get a medic for the treasury secretary.” 

Jefferson momentarily relishes in the power he holds over Hamilton’s well being. He could be a decent person and call for help, but he already has a reputation for being an asshole.

“Now, Jefferson.” Washington reiterates.

Hamilton smirks. Jefferson glares (and rolls his eyes and does as he is told).

**Author's Note:**

> this one's kind of short but i was bored and decided to finish this last night  
> inspired by Give Credit by scioscribe - check it out! the writing's spectacular  
> i might do hamliza next for my sister  
> i also don't edit so i apologize for any grammar mistakes  
> hope you enjoyed!


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